Someplace Far Away
by Melodie Allete
Summary: He was never out for forgiveness; she only wanted a truth.  If to not die is the greatest gift you can give someone you love, why is she alone?  Roy/OC. Mostly 2003 anime-based, begins before the series. Rating may go up!
1. Spited Tribulations

_Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, the 2003 anime, or Brotherhood (despite how badly I may wish otherwise…)! Also, the name "Seresu" is one of the translations of Fai (from CLAMP's Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE)'s home world, for anyone who's interested in knowing._

_Thank you to my wonderful beta, Haruta! I honestly wouldn't have been able to do this without you!_

**I. Spited Tribulations**

_October, 1908_

A storm had smothered the sun early that evening, shrouding the mountain in an unnaturally dark night. Snow dusted its sharp, unfriendly peaks, but the small town that existed in the mountain's shadow somehow managed to escape the unfavorable weather.

Seresu was one of the few towns in the North that wasn't precariously perched upon the cliffs of some mountain or another. It was still unbearably cold for the better part of the year, but its few months of summer experienced a booming tourist season. Civilians from the other provinces of Amestris flocked to Seresu to ice-skate, watch dog-sled races, and experience a charming winter without the hassle of having to live in it all year. But during the rest of the year, during those insufferably frigid months where you could go weeks without seeing the sun, Seresu was nothing more than a mining town, reaping the most flawless diamonds and sapphires Amestris had to offer.

The lives that the townspeople eked out were miserable during those months. Although their particular trade yielded a high salary, living without any light for so long would inevitably extinguish any warmth and all hope in your soul. During those months, the townspeople looked to Tara Iridell.

Tara Iridell was the town's pride and joy. Tara was as gracious as she was beautiful, with long waves of hair that seemed to sparkle even in the absence of the sun and coy chartreuse eyes. Although she had retired from service by the time she and her husband Colonel Michael Iridell had arrived in Seresu, Tara was widely known as the Emerald Alchemist. She could masterfully manipulate the soil and air around a plant to make it grow most favorably, even changing the structure of the plant itself to make it grow more swiftly. It was with these gifts that Tara made it possible for the townspeople to grow fresh produce all throughout the year, improving their lives and earning herself a place in each of their hearts.

While investigating the mining industry for the Führer, the Iridells had fallen in love with the hospitable town and decided to remain there. Shortly after their arrival, Tara had given birth to a son. Three years later, she and the Colonel had been blessed with a daughter. But now, for the first time since her arrival in Seresu nineteen years ago, Tara had been faced with a loss.

The Colonel had been dispatched the previous year to monitor the situation in the East—the small revolts of the Ishvarlan people that seemed to be growing in violence and frequency. Tara had remained strong, raising her children with unparalleled grace and wisdom and hiding from them the festering wound Michael's absence left in her heart. It had been a while, though, since she'd heard from her husband, and a few days ago, she'd received shocking news: Colonel Michael Iridell had been killed in the bloody Rebellion that had taken place the week before.

Tara hadn't taken the news well. As soon as she had learned of her husband's early death, she'd shut herself in the library of their house and hadn't come out since, not even when her now-teenaged children had threatened to knock the door down. And on that particular stormy night, her son finally threw caution to the wind and picked the lock on the door.

Alec Iridell, who was now nineteen and had been certified as a State Alchemist just a month before, knew what his mother was planning. He knew that it was a plan doomed to fail, but at the same time, he knew that it would be impossible to stop her. It was with a heavy heart that Alec pushed open the broad oak door and peered into the library.

The scene that met his eyes was worse than he'd imagined. Tara had pushed the bookshelves against the wall, leaving a conspicuously bare patch of carpet in the center of the room. Leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes littered the floor, having been hastily opened and then tossed aside. An enormous transmutation circle spanned the carpet, painted in what appeared to be thick black ink. At the center of the circle, a white shroud rested peacefully over a misshapen figure. Protruding from beneath the blanket was a charred, gruesomely patchy arm.

Alec felt bile rise in his throat.

And then there was Tara, kneeling at the edge of her transmutation circle, head bowed mournfully. She hadn't looked up as her son had approached, but she sensed his presence. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "I know what you're going to tell me, Alec. It won't change anything."

"Be _rational_, mother!" the young man exclaimed. He wasn't surprised that his mother had known he was there.

"How can you say that—like it's easy, like you know the truth?" she whispered, finally looking around to meet his gaze. Their eyes were identical in color and intensity. Her voice rose. "You don't understand anything, Alec! None of us do! Alchemy is a gift, and what good would it be if we couldn't use it?"

"Alchemy isn't anything more than doing a job that doesn't _belong_ to us! You're being selfish—think of all the times human transmutation has failed in the past! Think about your children—what about me? What about _Lizzy_? We have to maintain a balance, mother—by altering the natural world, we're glorifying ourselves to the status of gods!" Alec shouted, curling his hands into fists. This wasn't his mother. This woman's eyes were wild, cheeks flushed with reckless determination, chest heaving like she'd run a marathon. Her pale, elegant fingers were dripping with gore, and his eyes followed the bloody trail to the transmutation circles she'd traced on each of her limbs and over her heart. At that particular moment, Tara Iridell bore no resemblance to the charming, graceful woman who had so gently raised Alec and his younger sister.

She had become a monster.

"When have any of us ever believed in a god?" Tara cried. "I let you make your own choice, and even as a child you didn't believe! And since there aren't any gods, there aren't any boundaries on our power—and since there aren't any boundaries, there's nothing to stop me from bringing him back!"

And with that Tara slammed her hands down on the edge of the transmutation circle.

X

X

X

_January, 1909_

It was another one of those rainy nights, one of those balmy but relentless showers that seemed to leave Central waterlogged for days afterward. While you're inside a building, the arrhythmic drumming of raindrops can almost be a soothing, nostalgic thing—but when you're making the thirteen-block trek home from work, rain is undoubtedly a nuisance.

At least, that's what Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang thought as he irritably trudged through the downpour. He hated rain—it weighed down his clothes, it distracted his colleagues from their work, and it rendered his specific brand of alchemy useless. While he accepted that rain was a necessary evil, did the storm have to wait until the one night he'd forgotten his umbrella? Sighing, he pulled his fedora lower over his eyes and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his long overcoat.

Roy wondered if it rained this much in East City; he was due to be transferred at the end of the month. Although it upset him that he was going to be farther removed from his ambition of becoming Führer, he couldn't help feeling a little bit satisfied. As Maes had pointed out yesterday, his sudden transfer meant that his superiors were intimidated by the aptitude he'd demonstrated during the War.

It was this line of almost-melancholy thoughts that occupied the Lieutenant Colonel's head as he headed to his flat. The dim streetlamps cast pale yellow halos onto the sidewalk as he sloshed through the rain. And then, rather abruptly, his quiet walk was interrupted by a high, feminine voice.

"Oh, _damn it_!"

Roy glanced up, surprised at hearing a woman curse so openly, and found himself halfway across the bridge that stood between his flat and Central Headquarters. A few feet ahead of him, there was a young woman reaching over the edge of the bridge, standing on her toes. She lifted her left leg, pointing her toe, and reached her right arm so far over the railing that for a second, she looked like a porcelain model of a ballerina. The umbrella that she'd been holding fell to the ground as she used her left hand to grasp the railing for support.

Roy felt his lips curve into a smile; perhaps tonight wouldn't be as pointless as he'd originally believed it would. He stepped forward to help her, and he hadn't acted a moment too soon.

The girl slipped.

She gasped—Roy saw her eyes widen—and nearly toppled over the edge. It was only by the favor of fate that he caught her in time. Hauling her back to her feet and making sure that she was steady, Roy appraised her. She was younger than the women that he normally would have wooed, but she was unusually pretty. Her skin was pale and her long, dark hair almost seemed to repel the rain. An ornate oval locket hung from a heavy chain around her neck. She wore a cornflower blue dress that hung to her knees and a fitted black coat that clung to her figure. But something about her seemed…off. Dark. Secretive. Roy blinked.

"Do I know you?"

The girl, who had been gasping to catch her breath, choked and looked at him with incredulous, unnaturally chartreuse eyes. "What, does that line usually work?"

"Excuse me?" Roy asked, and it took him a second to realize that she thought he was trying to pick her up. Well, he had been…but for a moment there, he'd had the strangest feeling that he'd seen her face before. He decided to turn on his charm anyway—why waste an opportunity? "Isn't it working now?"

"Evidently not," the girl said, flashing him a mischievous, crooked smile. "Thanks for catching me, though."

At that thought she seemed to remember that she had dropped something, and she gazed down into the water. Roy followed in suit, a bit baffled by the fact that his charms didn't seem to be having any effect on her. In the dark, churning water, he could barely make out a small square of paper floating down the river. When he glanced back up at the girl, she was sighing and running a hand through her hair.

"I suppose there's nothing to be done about it," she said to herself, bending to pick up her umbrella. As she did so, her hair fell about her and revealed what appeared to be an imperfectly circular tattoo hidden on the side of her neck, but when she straightened up, she tossed her hair over her shoulder so that it once again concealed the marking. She smiled. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"Are you sure you're all right?" Roy asked as she began to turn away. She stopped and peered up at him over her shoulder. "Why don't you let me escort you to tea? I'll feel better once I know that you've had a chance to catch your breath before you go off on your own again."

Roy had never once been refused, so he shouldn't have been surprised when the girl laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, is _that_ your pick-up line, then? I really must be going—my cousin's waiting for me. But thank you again, sir!" she called over her shoulder as she started away.

"Wait! May I at least have your name?" Roy called valiantly, thoroughly at a loss. Although the girl didn't turn around, he could have sworn that in the wan light of the streetlamps, he had seen her cheeks lift as she smiled.

She had rejected him. _Rejected_ him. What had just happened?

He watched her until she was out of sight, dumbfounded. As he watched her go, he found himself strangely grateful that there was no one else around to have witnessed her humiliating rejection. And then she disappeared around a corner and Roy found himself alone on the bridge, clothes growing more sodden by the second, wondering if she had ever really been there to start with.

X

The next morning, as Roy was sorting through the things in his office—labeling the things he would take with him to East City and the things that he would leave here at Central—a newspaper clipping fluttered out of one of his files. He picked it up and made to set it down before he realized that the face in the picture looked familiar. Squinting at it, he was surprised to discover that the woman in the picture was the same woman he'd encountered last night. The headline of the article read, "EMERALD ALCHEMIST RESIGNS FROM DUTY".

Roy frowned. Was that why the girl last night had seemed familiar? Had he seen her before because she was—or had been, as the case seemed to be—a State Alchemist? He remembered the tattoo he'd caught a glimpse of on her neck. Now that he thought about it, the marking _had_ resembled a transmutation circle. He'd known some alchemists to tattoo transmutation circles on themselves, so perhaps that's what he'd seen. But she had been so young…

Something in the puzzle didn't fit. Curiously, he opened the file. Sure enough, the picture staring out at him was a portrait of the girl he'd seen last night, at least for the most part. The file stated that her name was Tara Iridell, but the numbers on the paper couldn't have been right. The file stated that Tara was over fifty years old, but that was impossible. When he'd seen her last night, she hadn't even looked half that age. In fact, she'd looked even younger than she did in the picture that headed her file.

But how was that possible? The furrow in Roy's brow deepened. How could Tara appear younger now than she had thirty years ago? What could give her the power to do that? It only took Roy a few seconds to reach a conclusion.

She'd used the Philosopher's Stone.

X

_A/N: Well, that was Chapter 1! Hope you enjoyed. I've only ever seen the 2003 anime, but I am currently reading the manga and watching Brotherhood (though I'm not very far…) and I think that this story will end up containing elements from the 2003 anime, Brotherhood/the manga, AND original ideas, so it'll be a little AU. Not terribly so, though, and not until it gets closer to the action of the story (which takes place around 1914, unless I'm mistaken). Anyway, thank you for reading!_


	2. A Lucid Illusion

_Disclaimer: I don't own any part of FMA!_

_I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my fabulous beta, Haruta! If you're a fan of EdxOC, you should definitely check out (and for the love of anime, review if you subscribe to) her fic "Fullmetal Collision"._

**II. A Lucid Illusion**

_January, 1909_

The sun was a deep red as it began to slowly sink beyond the horizon.

Roy gazed intently around his office, at the neat stacks of boxes and bare bookshelves, but he was too distracted to absorb what he was seeing. It had been mere hours since he'd realized that the girl he'd seen last night possessed the Philosopher's Stone, but it seemed like it had been much longer than that. Oh, he'd agonized over that little piece of knowledge. Should he tell his superiors? Should he ignore it? Or should he do something about it on his own, perhaps making a miraculous discovery that would earn him a promotion?

Tara Iridell. Her name sounded familiar, too. But was it, really?

When the shrill ringing of his office phone broke through the silence in the room, Roy nearly jumped. Glaring contemptuously at the receiver, he waited for a few minutes before taking the call. "Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mus—"

"Roy!" Maes Hughes, Roy's closest and most bothersome friend, exclaimed. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages!"

"We were at the bar two nights ago, Hughes."

"And you're saying it hasn't been a lifetime since then?"

"What did you want?" Roy asked irritably. He could just imagine Maes' smirking grin. "I was just on my way home."

"Hey, hey! Easy there, Roy-Boy. I've got some family in town, and Gracia is over for dinner, and I thought you might—"

"_Your_ place?" Roy interrupted. "You're not cooking, are you?" He shuddered at the thought, repressing the gruesome memories of Maes' failed attempts at "dinner" that he'd experienced in the past.

"Oh, no, that's the best part!" Maes cried gleefully. "You see, my cousin—the one that's staying with me, I mean—she's the most _fantastic_ cook! It would really be a shame for you to miss out on this. She's been in the kitchen with Gracia for hours."

"Hughes," Roy groaned. "Not this again…"

"But _Roy_," Maes whined, "Just think about it. You need all the people you can get on your side, and no one'll be more supportive than a wife! You want to do what's best for yourself, don't you?"

"That depends on the implications of the situation. If you're trying to set me up again—"

"But you _need_ a wife, Roy!" he cried, impassioned. Roy sighed. He'd heard all this before. "You're prematurely aging! Imagine how it feels, trying to root for you when you're all alone in life, wasting away without someone you trust as much as me…. You need a soft, feminine influence," Maes declared, and his voice grew dreamy, "someone to keep you in line and make you dinner and love you…someone like my precious Gracia!"

"No." Roy said flatly. "I've already got plans."

"Oh, Lieutenant Colonel, what are we going to do with you?" his friend teased over the phone, "You're such a terrible liar sometimes. Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You should never ask that."

"Please? She's just your type—independent, smart, and even Gracia agrees that she's just stunning, and—"

"Isn't it a bit incestuous of you to think of your own family like that?" Roy asked. This conversation was quickly wearing on him. Maes had never pushed this hard to get him to go out with someone specific. It made him uneasy. "If you've nothing meaningful to say to me, I'm hanging up."

"Dinner's at seven," Maes said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. The line went dead. Roy scowled.

He was still scowling as he made his way home a few minutes later. Although things had at first seemed reconcilable, Roy had rationalized that he simply couldn't go to Hughes' house. What would he do when he got there? He couldn't just brush Maes' cousin off. It would feel wrong. And so in an attempt to avoid having to walk that dangerously fine line between decisions, he'd resolved to stay in for the evening.

What a depressing thought. Like his office at Central, Roy's flat was packed into boxes. Granted, he had few personal possessions, but the prospect of sitting solitary amid the lonely boxes was dreary at best. Roy sighed to himself.

A bright flash of color pulled Roy out of his brooding. It took a few seconds for his gaze to focus on the scene in front of him. There was a woman standing a few feet ahead of him, paused at a corner and glancing between the two streets that lay before her. Her long hair caught the dying sunlight as she turned her head, flashing a blinding reddish-golden color. A bag of groceries dangled at her side. Roy had never seen anyone look so lost.

As he stepped forward to offer her directions—and perhaps an evening at the theatre—she turned her face again and he nearly froze. It was Tara Iridell, the same girl he'd run into last night. A thousand panicked ideas flew through his head. What should he do? Luckily, she seemed not to have seen him. Seemingly finding her way, Tara resolutely set off down the street.

Roy had never been one to let an opportunity slip through his fingers.

Had it been fate that he'd run into her again? Was he meant to be the one to uncover her secret, revealing the mystery that shrouded the Philosopher's Stone? He'd never liked being Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, the Hero of Ishval, but _Colonel_ Mustang, the Champion the Philosopher's Stone? He thought he rather liked the ring of that.

And so he followed her.

Roy skillfully masked his surprise at having stumbled upon her once again, meandering after her at a casual pace, occasionally pausing and glancing into shop windows to make his façade viable. The sun was nearly gone over the horizon when the young woman suddenly stopped at another crossroads and turned around to face him. The streets were quiet and empty. Trying to be inconspicuous, Roy turned and gazed thoughtfully into a storefront window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put her hands on her hips. Her bad of groceries swung from her wrist.

"Alright, this has gone on for long enough," the girl said, glaring at him. Her voice rang through the empty streets. "What, do you think I'm completely oblivious or something? You've been following me for the past ten minutes, and it's really starting to annoy me!"

Roy feigned innocence and turned to look at her, putting on his best "Who, me?" face and blinking twice. Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, no, don't you go trying to play dumb! You're that same guy who bumped into me last night, and I don't know _what_ your problem is, but if you don't tell me why you seem to be so infatuated with my nighttime strolls, we're going to have some serious issues," she said icily. Roy realized that she thought he was planning on taking advantage of her. He smirked—what did it matter if he'd been discovered? He had a trump card.

"Then perhaps you'd tell me about your Philosopher's Stone?" he asked. He could hear the arrogance in his own voice. It didn't bother him.

"My—my what?" the girl asked, dropping her angry pretense. She seemed genuinely bemused as she blinked at him and knitted her eyebrows together.

"Don't try to play dumb, now, Emerald," Roy chided, mocking her with her own words. "I think we'll have some serious issues if you don't explain yourself."

"Emerald?" she repeated blankly. Roy's confidence didn't waver, although he hadn't expected her to be such a convincing actress.

"How long are you going to keep this up? I know your secret. You've made a Philosopher's Stone, haven't you, Tara?"

Roy didn't know how the Philosopher's Stone was made, but he knew the destruction it could cause. That much power shouldn't belong to one person alone. Moreover, he was determined to discover how the Stone was made and use that information to get a promotion.

Something about her visibly changed. Her spine went rigid, and her bag of groceries fell to the sidewalk. A tomato rolled out of her bag as she stared at him in unmasked shock. "What did you call me?" she hissed.

"Tara Iridell, the Emerald Alchemist? It's a pleasure to meet you," Roy smirked, crossing one arm over his solar plexus and casually supporting his other elbow as he rubbed his chin in thought. He had her cornered. Her eyes narrowed in what he assumed to be a criminal's resentment.

"My mother? What, are you one of her old friends, come to taunt her daughter now that she's dead? Isn't that lovely! Well, what do I care about her?" the girl spat viciously. Her hard, vividly green eyes flashed. She looked…dangerous. How could someone so small look so powerful? "Who do you think you _are_?"

"Your mother?" Roy echoed. What was she going on about? Was this her cover story for the Philosopher's Stone? "Do you mean to tell me that you're not a State Alchemist?"

"Nor have I ever been, and nor shall I ever be!" the young woman brazenly declared. "I don't even use alchemy!"

Her words rang through the empty streets.

"Then why do you have a transmutation circle tattooed onto your neck?" He enquired. He couldn't help feeling a little smug. Her eyes darkened.

"I didn't do _that," _she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "You have my brother to thank for that wretched thing!"

Roy felt his brow crease. Her…brother? Iridell—Alec Iridell. A face flashed through his mind's eye, a young, handsome man with an unusual alchemical talent. "The Illusion Alchemist?"

"Yes," the girl flinched at the title. "That's what they called him."

And suddenly Roy remembered hearing about it—about how a young, promising alchemist had been killed in an experiment gone terribly wrong. But his body had never been found—and neither had his mother's. What a perfect cover story for experiments involving a Philosopher's Stone, he mused. Roy smirked again, regaining his confidence.

"That really was quite some acting, Emerald—but you're going to have to do better than that to fool me."

"You're impossible!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation. "You must be the single most ignorant, stubborn, _rude_ man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting! You couldn't be haughtier if you aspired to be the next Führer, and I pity the (no doubt _countless_) women whom you've managed to trick into seduction with those deceptively charming looks! And please, sir, let me be the first to say that I hope we _don't_ meet again!"

And with that the girl snatched up her bag of groceries and stalked off, a dark silhouette fading into the bloody sunset. Roy watched her go, stunned. Had…had any of those things really been true? _"You couldn't be haughtier if you aspired to be the next F__ü__hrer," _she'd said. Roy's blood ran cold. He _did_ aspire to be Führer. She'd hit the nail on the head.

By the time Roy roused the energy to break from his involuntary repose, the streetlamps had turned on. Numbly, he set off toward Maes' house. If anyone would be able to lift his spirits, it was his idiotic best friend.

X

"Oh! Hello, Lieutenant Colonel," Gracia smiled brightly as she answered her fiancée's door. "Please, come in!"

"Thank you," Roy nodded, following her into the foyer. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"Oh, don't worry," she said quickly. "I don't know that we would've been quite ready to take you anyway."

Roy heard raised voices in the other room, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. He smiled at Gracia.

"Is Maes' cousin turning out to be more than he can handle?"

"Well, he doesn't really have any choice in the matter," Gracia said quietly. The voices from the other room faded. "Seeing as he's her only—"

"Yo, Roy!"

Maes walked into the foyer, grinning like an idiot, as per usual. He had his arm slung around the shoulders of a young woman with an abundance of wavy dark hair and a heavy, oval locket hung around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed with what could've been frustration, or maybe even anger. Her chartreuse eyes widened when she caught sight of Roy. Maes seemed not to notice as he continued, "I'm glad you finally decided to show up! Dinner's getting cold. Oh!" he exclaimed, brandishing the girl like a shield. "And this is my precious cousin Elizabeth Iride—"

"You can't expect me to believe that _this_ is Lieutenant Colonel Mustang!" the girl exclaimed, cutting him off. She gazed with unmasked shock at Roy, and he glared back. Of_ course_ she was Hughes' cousin. _Damn_ it! He'd been wrong.

"Oh!" Maes looked down at her exasperated expression and then back to Roy's rigid posture. "You two already know each other…?"

"This is the man who assaulted me!" Elizabeth accused, crossing her arms over her chest. Gracia murmured something about having to check the tableware and quickly melted from the room. Maes looked bemused as ever. Roy crossed his arms as well.

"I did nothing of the sort," he said frankly. "I was merely mistaken. Need I remind you that I saved your _life_ last night? Shouldn't you be grateful for that?"

"Maybe I would be if you hadn't gone and accused me of something completely ridiculous!" She exclaimed, and there was a small pause. Then she smiled. "It _was_ quite ridiculous, wasn't it?"

That thought seemed to amuse her, and it seemed as though she'd recovered her wit. She inexplicably began to laugh, hastily coughing in an attempt to seem solemn. Roy failed to see the humor in the situation. He glared when Maes grinned.

"Er…Roy?" Maes asked. "Did you honestly think she had a Philosopher's Stone?"

Roy felt blood rushing to his face and turned away, choosing not to respond. He heard Elizabeth's satisfied little "ha!" and Maes' clothes rustle as he reached up to scratch his head, laughing nervously. Finally, Roy turned back around. "She really _does_ look a lot like her mother, you know," he grumbled. Maes laughed.

"Oh, Roy! What a naïve mistake!" he cried gleefully. "You know, if you want to be Führer, I'd suggest smartening up a bit. You can't go making mistakes like _that_ again, that's for sure…"

"Führer?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow and thinly suppressing a smug smirk. Evidently, the irony of her earlier, unknowing comment about his pride amused her. "My, you've sure got a long way to go, Lieutenant Colonel…"

"Now, now, Elizabeth," Maes chuckled, clearly entertained by the situation as Gracia returned. "No need to wound his ego any more."

As he turned her around and sent her with Gracia to the table, Maes turned to give Roy an exasperated, bemused smile. "If I had known that you'd already gone and tried to hit on her, I wouldn't have invited you over, Lieutenant Colonel," he teased.

"Watch it, Hughes," Roy said coldly, walking past his friend. "Don't push your luck."

Maes smirked.

After a few failed attempts at conversation by Gracia, they ate in silence for the greater part of the meal. As Elizabeth daintily set down her fork and knife, Roy studied her. Now that he looked at her, _really_ looked at her, he noticed the differences between her appearance and her late mother's. Elizabeth's hair wasn't quite so dark, for example, and she was slighter than Tara'd been in any of the pictures Roy had seen. She had her mother's unsettling eyes, though, and her dainty features. Roy rather thought that anyone could've mistaken the two.

"You know, Maes," she said innocently, casting Roy a sly smile, "when you told me about this Lieutenant Colonel who was going to be Führer, I always kind of imagined him…taller."

Roy choked on his water.

This was going to be a long evening.

X

_A/N: Well, I'm proud of myself. I've never actually accomplished posting a second chapter before. Go figure! I hope everyone enjoyed!_


	3. From Now

_Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own any part of FMA!_

_Thanks to my stupendous beta Haruta!_

**III. From Now**

_January, 1909_

"Well, it's been real, Roy!" Maes Hughes exclaimed.

Roy Mustang heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing away from Maes' impassioned face. The two men—accompanied by Gracia and Elizabeth—were standing on a crowded train platform; the world swelled and ebbed around them. It was the last day of the month, and as it was after work on a Friday, there were and abundance of citizens headed out of Central for the weekend. Roy would be leaving with them, but he wouldn't come back. He wore his fedora and long coat: his possessions were already in the cargo hold.

"That depends on your point of view," he said, frowning. Maes grinned.

"Don't you be a stranger, now! Anytime they send you back to Central, you're obligated to stay with us," Maes declared. And, leaning closer, he conspicuously cupped one hand around his mouth and whispered, "And if I've heard correctly, there may be an easy promotion waiting for you when you get to East!"

"You shouldn't count your chickens before they hatch, Hughes," Roy warned, but he smirked nonetheless.

"_You're_ one to talk! And don't you forget about the wedding, Roy-Boy! As my best man, I expect you to be here on time," his friend nodded resolutely.

"I'm always on time."

"Oh, that's right—because your punctuality alone will earn you that promotion!"

"Dependability is invaluable," Roy responded. A whistle sounded in the distance. The crowd around them grew louder and more rushed as Roy turned to smile at the women. "Thank you for coming to see me off, ladies."

"Oh! Of course, Lieutenant Colonel," Gracia smiled kindly, curtsying briefly as Maes slung his arm over her shoulders. Roy turned his gaze to Elizabeth.

"Have a safe trip, Lieutenant Colonel," she said offhandedly. He hadn't seen her since the night Maes had invited him over for dinner—the night he'd made such a fool of himself—and he couldn't honestly say that he entirely understood why she'd come to see him off. She had no reason to like him enough to wish him well.

"Thank you, Miss Iridell. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Roy replied, vainly trying to catch her eye. Was it just the hustle and bustle of the train station, or did she seem unusually quiet?

Elizabeth looked away, and Roy saw her lips moving but couldn't catch what she was saying. People pushed and swirled around them, calling to one another as loved ones boarded the train and leaned out of compartment windows to carry on shouted conversations. Heavy winter jackets cloaked men and women alike, leaving them unidentifiable and anonymous. The sound of steam hissing from the train's engine was a steady undercurrent to the chaos of the train platform. The late afternoon sun was blinding.

"I'm sorry?" Roy leaned a little closer, straining to hear her words over the mayhem. The train whistle blew again.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper on you," Elizabeth repeated, raising her voice and suddenly meeting his gaze with earnest eyes. "I'm sorry."

Roy stared at her, at a loss. She was apologizing to _him_? He didn't know why, but something about that seemed backwards. For a second, as he tried in vain to read her eyes, it felt as though the lazy spring breeze that seemed to drift through her irises settled over the bedlam and quieted the chaos that surrounded them. He could almost hear the rustle of a soft zephyr.

The train's whistle moaned a long, loud note.

And then the spell was broken and Maes pushed Roy toward the train. "What're you doing, Lieutenant Colonel? You're going to miss your train!"

Roy stumbled, catching himself on the door to the train. As he stepped on and the train began to move away, its gears creaking and groaning, he gazed back at the platform. He watched as it shrunk and faded into the distance. When Central was far behind him, Roy slowly make his way to his seat. Settling down into the hard, unforgiving bench, he stared out at the fleeting landscape, letting the passing distance lull him into that blissful, nostalgic state of mind that only ever seemed attainable on a train. While he sat there, gazing out of a window as he traveled for what simultaneously seemed like a thousand eternities and no time at all, he felt as though there was some sort of unspoken expectation that he reflect on his time in Central—and so he did.

But when Elizabeth Iridell's parting words and impassioned eyes interrupted a particularly humorous memory of Maes, Roy decided to think about what was awaiting him in East instead.

X

X

X

Elizabeth Iridell silently watched the train leave.

It didn't bother her, exactly—that the Lieutenant Colonel had left before she'd really had a chance to resolve the tensions between them. As much as she hated to admit it, Elizabeth knew that if she hadn't tried to apologize, she would've felt guilty about it for months. She didn't feel like she _owed_ him an apology, per se, but she didn't want anyone holding anything against her, and she _did_ think that it would be beneficial to remain on his good side. Who knew when having a connection like that would be useful?

"Are you okay, Elizabeth?" Maes asked, looming over her and blinking keenly. "You aren't taking Roy's sudden, dramatic departure too badly, are you? Oh, it's so tragic! That two young, budding lovers such as yourselves should have to be viciously wrenched apart by—"

"I'm _fine_, Maes!" Elizabeth laughingly cut him off. Although she had only known Maes for a few months, she knew that if she rose to her cousin's bait and tried to point out that she and Roy had been anything _but_ romantic, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Don't tease her again!" Gracia entreated, but Maes smirked as the trio set off. Elizabeth knew she hadn't heard the last of it.

Sure enough, the moment Maes and Elizabeth had deposited Gracia at her house, Maes turned to grin at his cousin as they set out for his flat. "You know, he really _does_ need a wife, Elizabeth. And wouldn't it be great if you married my best friend?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Maes," Elizabeth scoffed, but she linked her arm through his all the same. "Surely you want better for me! I've no interest in such an arrogant, thoughtless man."

"Mmm? Is that so? Then why were you _apologizing _to him back on the platform, eh?" he asked. His lips curved into a smirk as she glared up at him.

"I just wanted to clear the air between us. Though I have no intention of becoming his wife—I shudder at the very _thought_, and I can only imagine that he's got plenty of other women who would be more than willing to fill that position—I'm sure I'll find it useful to be acquainted with such a promising young military man. Who knows when that may come in handy?" she asked with a coy smile. Maes chuckled.

"Don't pretend to be so heartless, now. You may miss your chance to be the wife of the next Führer."

Elizabeth looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. "So you really think he can do it, then?"

"Of course!" Maes cried. "If anyone can, it'll be him. He'd be the best person for the job—I know it may not seem like it, but Roy's really got a good heart, Lizzie."

"I told you not to call me that," she hissed, ignoring Maes as he smiled to himself. After the suspense of a few seconds had piqued her interest, she glanced up at him and spoke again. "How can you say that he has a good heart? He's completely ruled by that disgustingly haughty ambition to become the next Führer. It's sickening."

"He wants to be Führer, but not for himself. Roy's a reformer!" Maes declared passionately. Elizabeth sighed. Of course he was.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

They walked in companionable silence for a while. As Maes unlocked the door to his flat, he spoke again. "You know, his experiences in Ishval really shaped his outlook on the world. He's always been a little radically-minded, but that really pushed him over the edge."

Elizabeth, who had stiffened at the mention of the War, gazed up at him with rapt attention. "He fought at Ishval?"

"Mmm? Didn't you know?" Maes wondered aloud as he opened the door and stepped inside. He didn't look at her. "His services to the State during the War were the reason he got promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. They called him the Hero of Ishval, but he wasn't too fond of _that _title. He thinks it was wrong that we killed all those Ishvarlans—we all do," he said softly. Elizabeth stared at her cousin, waiting for the climax that she sensed was coming. He didn't look at her as he reached the zenith of his little speech. "But what he feels the worst about…well, he had to kill a General and the General's son because they turned on the State and joined the rebels in the middle of the last stand."

A grandfather clock, tall and ornate, slowly ticked from the living room.

Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to break the silence that settled over them, its bounds interrupted only by the clock's incessant ticking. She couldn't even bring herself to meet his gaze; she'd frozen, eyes wide and glassy, before he'd even finished speaking. Maybe somewhere deep down, she'd always known that it was true—that the inevitability of such a twisted reality was irresistible to the fates.

She wasn't sure how long it was before Maes turned back around, a goofy grin painted onto his face. When he spoke, his voice was bright. "And, you know, I think that's just the kind of person—"

"Does he know?" Elizabeth asked quietly, snapping her eyes up to meet his. Maes' grin faded and he sighed.

"Who it was he killed? Of course not. Why should I tell him and make everything that much worse? I'm sure you noticed how terrible he looked. He might not put on a strong front, but Roy's not handling it very well."

"Actually, seeing as I'd never seen him before, he looked perfectly fine to me," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at her cousin with contemptuous chartreuse eyes. Her voice was accusatory and acidic. "How can you stand to be _near_ him, Maes? If he really did that? After he killed—"

"He didn't have a choice, Elizabeth," Maes stated mildly, as thought it meant nothing at all to him. "I think you're still too young to understand, but sometimes the world puts you into situations that force you to make terrible decisions."

"And he chose to _murder_? This is the man you expect to rule our country—and you wanted me to _marry _him?" Elizabeth demanded. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"

"It was kill or be killed," he said. "If he's fallen, the rest of the world has willingly descended."

"I'll never forgive him," Elizabeth brazenly vowed. "And if you try to force him on me one more time, I'll never forgive _you_."

And with that she turned on her heel and stalked off to her room.

X

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X

Maes didn't try to stop Elizabeth as she stormed down the hallway—he knew it would've been a vain effort. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, the moonlight caught the transmutation circle tattooed onto her neck, giving the marking an eerie, fluent effect. The sound of her door slamming echoed through the flat.

He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gazing half-heartedly into the mirror across the hall. If he looked at himself from a distance, stared into the reflection of his eyes, he couldn't help seeing her gaze reflected back. It was unsettling.

Elizabeth was still young, only seventeen. She was almost eight years younger than he and Roy—but sometimes she made it so easy to forget that she was barely an adult. Tonight, however, Maes had been painfully reminded of the gap between their ages. Had it been a mistake for him to tell her about Roy's past? On one hand, he figured that she would've found out eventually. She had a right to know, and something would've inevitably happened to reveal the truth—and there was no telling how she would've reacted if she'd heard about the Lieutenant Colonel's hand in the War from anyone else. Maes knew that it would be easy for her to overcome her anger with him—she never seemed to stay upset with her cousin for long—and he didn't want to risk someone else becoming the victim of one of her tempers.

But, on the other hand…had it been his place to tell her?

Weighed down by his worries, Maes trudged into the living room and sank into the couch. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, giving the room that surreally blue effect that made the world seem like it was a dream. For a while he stared at the grandfather clock. He watched time pass, listened to the languid ticking of life and love. Without really meaning to, he found himself wondering what the future would hold—what would change in six months? A year? A lifetime?

As Maes gazed resolutely at nothing in particular, bathed in the timeless light of the moon, the only sound to be heard in his flat was that of the grandfather clock, ticking the steady, sluggish beat of time passing them by.

X

_A/N: Well, thanks for reading! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Also, I knocked the rating down to T. I figure that I can just bring it back up to M when/if I ever write a chapter that would constitute a higher rating. …You know, I'm quite averse to soliciting reviews, but they really _are_ appreciated. Wow. I can't believe I just actually typed that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! And, you know, maybe if you did—especially if you liked it enough to subscribe—you could totally feel free to, well, I don't know, review?_


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